Gunshots
by gently-used-fairytale
Summary: A simple salt and burn gets a bit more complicated courtesy of an ill-timed migraine. Set post 1x17 "Hell House" Fluff abound.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hey there! I see you've found your way to my fanfiction, thank you for that, by the way. This was supposed to be a one-shot, I swear it was, but it got out of hand and decided it wanted to be a two-shot. The majority of fluffiness is in the 2nd part, but still, I'm pretty fond of the first. But before we go on,**

 **WARNING: Mild language but nothing you haven't seen from the show.**

 **DISCLAIMER: As much as I'd like to, I don't own the boys, or Supernatural, that honor would go to Eric Kripke.**

 **Set post 1x17 "Hell House" because why not take a trip back to Season one, eh?**

 **Read on, Reader.**

* * *

Oregon, Route 121

Present Day

A 1967 Chevrolet Impala rumbled steadily down a desolate Oregon highway, the engine giving off a steady purr . The interior of the gleaming black muscle-car was filled with the whining beat of AC/DC "Highway to Hell". The classic rock song played noticeably fainter than it typically would have in respect for the slumbering 22 year old riding shotgun.

Dean smiled at the sight, momentarily taking his hand off the Impala's steering wheel to brush Sam's overlong bangs from his eyes. His little brother was slumped against the window, the collar of his jacket pulled upwards to pillow his head against the cool glass.

They'd found a case in Boring, Oregon and if the barren land on either side of route 121 was anything to go by, the town was certainly going to live up to it's name. From the looks of it, they were dealing with a malevolent spirit, poor sucker died in a sawmill accident back in the early 1900s. Bled out after his arm got cut off by one of the heavy steel blades. His spirit had taken to killing people the same way once a year on the day of his death every year since.

Given that the spirit only lashed out once per every 12 months, that gave them 2 days to torch the late Cavan Debroff's remains before his killing-spree calendar reset itself.

Dean smirked and revved the Impala's engine as they passed a wooden sign sporting golden letters that read 'Welcome to Boring, Oregon!' Sam stirred slightly at the sudden snarl of the engine and blinked bleary hazels at the darkening September sky.

"Nice of you to join us, Princess," Dean quipped.

"Shut up, jerk," Sam grinned, "Where are we?"

"Boring, Oregon, bitch." Sure enough, the place was a spitting image of it's name. Fields surrounded the road much like those on the highway, with a walls of trees at the far side of either meadow, a smattering of rickety buildings being the only sign of civilization within the wooded space.

Dean cut the car's engine and stepped out, his brother close on his heels. Sam rounded the front of the car and caught Dean's gaze.

"You have to be kidding me," He muttered. His brother had his eyes set on a blue-eyed brunette leaning against the wall of a shabby diner with look that was borderline lustful.

Dean shoved an elbow towards an equally dingy motel at the end of the road, "Go get us a room and do some research. I'll see what I can find out about the locals." the second half of the comment was punctuated with a suggestive smile and a telltale eyebrow raise.

Sam snagged the Impala's keys from his older brother and smirked "You sure you and what's-her-name don't want your own room?"

* * *

The motel room was a wash of brown. The tables, chairs floor, lamps, just about everything was made from assorted dark woods ,with the walls painted a light two twin beds at either side of the room boasted matching chocolate colored sheets, and between them a mounted moose head hung above the wooden nightstand. The only spots of color in the room were the camo green duffles at the foot of the two beds. The bathroom was stark in contrast, with surprisingly clean white tile and appliances.

Sam pulled his laptop from its leather case, powered it on, and continued to scroll through county burial and cemetery records that he'd found the previous night before he and Dean had left for Oregon. So far, nothing had turned up. A few Debroffs came up in local birth records, along with Cavan himself, and a handful of local newspapers had covered Cavan's gruesome demise, but no place of death or grave seemed to exist at all.

The motel's wifi signal was patchy at best, and it gave out again as Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. A dull ache at the base of his skull was beginning to make itself known, and the light from the laptop screen wasn't providing much help.

He grabbed his cell from the nightstand as it gave off an monotonous blip and held it to his ear.

"You got her number didn't you?"

He could hear the smirk in Dean's voice as he replied, "Her shift ends at 9, I'm so gettin' lucky tonight. You find anything on the bitchy lumberjack?"

"Not really," Sam glanced through the online death records again, "he's in the county birth records and his death's in local papers, but I can't find his grave or exact place of death other than the sawmill. The articles I read are pretty vague."

"Weird," Came the muffled response as a breeze blew through Dean's end of the line, "we have to gank this sucker by tomorrow night, think you can find something by then, geekboy?"

"Yeah, probably. He might of been buried with his family under another name.."

Sam heard a door squeak and the familiar growl of the Impala through the phone, "Well, I'm going to this Shaden girl's house, tell me what you find in the morning."

"Yeah, I will."

The smile in his voice was evident as the call ended and he placed his phone back on the bedside table.

He did another search of the death records for "Debroff" and, after a quick check of birth records, came up with who had to be Cavan's wife, daughter, and two sons. The ache in his skull had morphed into a mild headache, and had become annoyingly close to shifting into the zone of more severe pain. Sam grabbed a bottle of extra-strength Advil and dry-swallowed 2 chalk-colored caplets. He scrubbed a hand over his face as exhaustion won him over, and he slid into his bed with a grateful sigh. Sam figured that he could sleep the headache off if the meds didn't kick in. Clicking the lights off, he closed his laptop and slid it to the end of his bed, unwilling to leave the warmth of the sheets for any longer than he had to. Sam let his mind drift and grinned as he imagined whatever raunchy escapade his brother was on before he slipped into the realm of much needed sleep.

* * *

Dean stepped out of the Impala carrying two cut-rate cups of coffee that he'd gotten free of charge after the night he'd had with Shaden, one of the waitresses at the local diner . He turned the extra room key that Sam had stashed in the Impala's glove compartment for him in the lock with a yell of, "Sam! I brought food!" Dean was surprised when silence greeted his ears rather than his little brother's annoyed retort.

"Sammy?" He scanned the room again and shoved the coffees onto the oak table by the door, swallowing ebbing panic when his jade eyes found a Sam sized lump in the bed farthest from the door .

"C'mon Sunshine," Dean smiled as he was rewarded with a muffled groan from under the heavy comforter . Sam pushed out of the covers enough to shoot a well practiced bitch face at his brother before leaning against the headboard and glancing at the clock.

"10:47? Damn, you let me sleep in?"

"Not really, you let yourself sleep in, Tiger . I just got here."

"It's not my fault my internal alarm clock decided to take a holiday," Sam muttered as he closed the bathroom door behind him. He sucked in a breath, rubbing a palm over his eyes, finding that the ache from the night before hadn't subsided, but gotten worse. He grimaced knowing that if a migraine were to set in no amount of painkillers would make a difference.

Sam took the coffee Dean offered him after he'd changed out of his sweats and grabbed his laptop from the foot of his bed where he'd left it the night before. Sam plugged the computer in at the desk by the far wall of the room after the 'low battery' signal mocked him, reminding him that he'd left the device half-open all evening.

"Still haven't found the pissy logger's grave?" Dean asked as he pulled a chair around the other side of the desk.

"No, but.." Sam trailed off a bit as another bolt of pain went through his skull.

"But what?" There was something up with his brother, that Dean couldn't deny. Every movement and sound was off, just barely. The signs of discomfort were subtle enough that no normal person would notice, but Dean knew. He'd catalogued every sound and movement that his little brother made, and his current state screamed nothing but: migraine.

"I dunno, I thought maybe if an accident like that happened the mill would try and cover it up, you know? If anyone other than the locals found out they'd probably shut 'em down."

"So you're saying the mill owners hid Debroff's body?" Dean quirked an eyebrow in false interest. Sooner they could finish the job, sooner Dean could resort to all out prying mother-hen.

"Yeah, maybe," Sam fought the urge to massage his temples as the pain in behind his eyes ratcheted up a notch.

"So that means Casper has more than one thing to be pissy about." Dean reasoned, throwing the emptied styrofoam coffee cup in the trash, "I say we go check it out."

"What are we going to do? Dig a trench around the whole mill looking for a grave?" Sam lowered his pounding head into his hands, hoping Dean wouldn't notice considering that his back was momentarily turned.

"We scan the thing for EMF, if the guy's bones are there, we'll know."

Dean shoved his EMF meter and assorted provisions into his pack and shrugged it over his shoulder.

"Come on, we don't find anything then we gotta keep digging, and we only got 'til tonight to torch this guy."

"Yeah," Sam closed his laptop and stood slowly. His head spun slightly in protest to the movement, "just gimmie a second, I gotta use the bathroom." Dean bit back the instinctive urge to check on his brother and pulled the motel door closed behind him. Sam reached into his duffel and pulled out the extra-strength Advil again, dry swallowing the highest suggested dosage as the pounding in his head worsened. He regretted forgetting to refill his prescription migraine pills they'd picked up at a clinic after his visions had started.

* * *

The rumbling lull of the Impala's engine wasn't nearly as therapeutic as it should have been considering the jarring rattle the car gave each time it struck a rut in the lonely Oregon road. The mill stood 15 minutes from the motel, and the road gave way into muddy paths of sludge a mere 5 minutes into the drive. Up that 15 to 20, why don't you?

 **Thanks for reading! Reviews/favorites/follows are very welcome! Creative criticism encouraged.**

 **Thanks again,**

 **~Salted**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I'm baaaaaack! So yeah, maybe it took a while for me to kick my muse into gear, but it happened! Delay caused primarily by school, because apparently homework is supposed to take 4 hours every night. The only other thing that held me up was some 'friend' drama, i.e. 'What the heck Salted, you're not fun you never go out and do anything' etc.. It's pretty stupid.**

 **But yeah, the second a final chapter of _Gunshots_ is here! Finally!**

 **WARNING: Some cussing, lots of fluff and Sam whumpage, you get the picture.**

 **DISCLAIMER: I don't own the boys, that honor would go to Eric Kripke. I promise to return them in mostly one piece when I'm done.**

 **Love,**

 **~Salted**

* * *

"Sam! I think I found our guy!" Dean called from the back of broken down mill. The sawmill had been left untouched for so long that it had started to fall apart on it's own, with boards falling from the sides of the structure, showing off the rusted blades adorning the equally run-down interior .

Dean's EMF meter whined loudly, as the needle wavered in the red 'warning' area. His brother rounded the corner of mill and came to stand next to him, eyes fixed on the whirring meter .

"Look," Sam pointed to an aged carving in the tree above the supposed tomb that read 'C.D.' "Guess whoever buried him here had enough decency to mark his grave."

"Come back and torch his ass tonight?"

* * *

Shovels struck aging wood, the splintering surface released a sputtering crack as it connected with rusting steel.

"Yahtzee," Dean exclaimed and shined the ray of his maglite at his brother . The sudden brightness against barley glimmering moonlight. Sam winced and pressed his eyes shut as the light sent burning daggers through his head, not stopping to think about keeping his brother from noticing his tribulation.

"Dude? What's wrong with you?" Dean placed a gentle hand on Sam's shoulder as the younger turned to face him.

"It's nothing, I can finish this," Sam reached for the shovel he'd offhanded in the midst of his light sensitivity induced streak of agony.

Dean tossed the shovel upwards to the side of the freshly dug grave, "Nope, out."

"What, why?" Sam's retort was bitter and half-hearted, laden with underlying desire to give into the violent pounding inside his skull.

"Because I'm older and I said so," Dean shoved his brother towards the slope at the side of the hole, "I don't need to worry about you droppin' dead down here."  
Sam grunted in distaste from beside the newly upturned grave,

"I can't believe you," he muttered, the blazing anguish in his skull momentarily faded to low buzz .

Dean cleared away dirt from the top of the coffin, and paused as he began to pry the tomb open when a chilled wind coated the rotting mill.

"Heads up," He called, craning his head upwards toward Sam, but got little more than a quiet 'yeah' in response.

The sentence registered in Sam's pain riddled mind, and he fumbled for his shotgun. The grinding behind his eyes had become overwhelming, causing spots to dance in his vision. Sam felt an unnatural pressure against his chest as he forced back against a tree behind him. He rapidly raised his gun and winced before pulling the trigger .

Sam yelped and folded in on himself when pulsating pain ripped through his skull as the shot ran through the air, rock salt exploding as it collided with the half formed specter .

Dean's heart skipped a beat as a shotgun blast sounded above him, followed by his brother's agonized cry.

"Shit, Sammy?" Dean pushed himself over the ledge of the grave only to see his brother's prone form trembling against the ground, arms wrapped protectively around his head.

Dean scrambled out of the grave -ignoring the freshly opened coffin- and slid to his knees beside his baby brother .

"Hey, easy," He soothed when Sam flinched at his touch, "Something hurt?" Sam gave a snivel in response and pawed weakly at Dean's shirt.

"Just tell me what hurts and I promise I'll fix it, okay?" Chick flick moments be damned.

"Head," Sam whimpered and pressed his pounding skull into the Dean's thigh.

"Aw, crap, migraine?" Dean asked softly, carding his fingers through Sam's snuff-colored hair .

"mhm," Sam mewled pitifully, squeezing his brother's forearm as another bolt of pain lacerated through his skull.

Dean silently cursed himself for not noticing Sam's obvious discomfort before, knowing that once a migraine got this bad, all they could do was wait it out.

"Okay, alright, I gotcha," Dean quieted, still running his fingers through his little brother's hair in an age old act of comfort, "Think you can sit up for me?"

"I can try" Sam muttered, his voice laced with concern as nausea churned uncomfortably in his stomach.

"Okay, just let me do all the work," Dean pacified before pulling his baby brother up by his shoulders. Sam moaned and swayed with the movement before pitching forward, only held up by Dean's strong arms wrapped protectively around his chest.

"Easy, easy," Dean soothed, leaving one hand in Sam's unruly locks and the other on his chest to hold him upright. They stayed like that for a while. The classic reassuring post-nightmare position. They doubted anyone else knew how they held each like that when one brother was hurt or suffering.

"You're okay, I gotcha," Dean cooed, repeating the mantra until the words ran together, forming one multi-syllable string of sweet nothings.

A blast of frigid air -far stronger than the light breeze before- pumped through the desecrated gravesite, bringing attention back to Debroff's ghost, who'd hit new levels of pissed after being blasted with rock salt.

Dean muttered a curse -holding Sam slightly closer to his chest- rifling through his worn duffel, pulling out a half-empty canister of salt, a jug of lighter fluid, and a matchbox. He made short work of dousing the grave with both salt and lighter fluid, leaning as close to the grave as he could while holding his not so little brother , every movement eliciting a pitiful whine from Sam.

Dropping the smoking match into the grave, Cavan's spirit gave a final, piercing, wail not willing to go quietly. Sam pressed his forehead into Dean's chest, the sound hell on his already migraine-abused ears, clutching fistfuls of fabric from the back of his brother's shirt.

But then again, as long as no one else went on a shooting spree, the worst was over.

* * *

Or maybe it wasn't. Half dragging, half carrying a whimpering, barely responsive Sam into the front seat of the Impala was pretty high up on Dean's list of things never to again unless entirely unavoidable. Over the years, that list had become a list of things that will inevitably happen again because reality's a bitch and give approximately zero fucks about your desires.

Sam was lying across the bench seat, head resting on Dean's lap in a desperate attempt to ease the agonizing pressure in his skull that restated its presence every time the Impala hit a rut in the sludgy excuse for a backroad.

Sam grasped a handful of denim from his brother's jeans, whining pitifully as the car struck another rut, rattling the sleek metal frame. Dean smoothed Sam's hair back, whispering words of comfort as he risked the main road, given no other choice. He hoped there weren't many cars left on the roadway that late at night, but sighed bitterly, knowing there would be.

Two minutes of peace on the main road came to a squealing stop when a two cars nearly rammed each other switching inbetween the only two lanes on the narrow thoroughfare. The blaring car horns and near-blinding headlights -that both seemed far harsher than necessary- was more than enough to shove Sam over the edge. His stomach had long since given up the whole digestion thing -or withholding any substance at all- and any exposure to light or sound (or both at once, mind you) was punishable by immediate expulsion of any and all stomach content.

Thank God Dean managed to pull the Impala into the shoulder of the road before Sam had a chance to redecorate his baby's interior.

The driver side door flew open far faster than it had in months, allowing Sam the vomit out the side of the car.

"Shh, just let it out, I gotcha," Dean murmured -knowing there was almost nothing that his younger brother hated more than throwing up- rubbing slow circles on Sam's back.

Eventually the heaves and retching tapered off, allowing Sam to slide back across the bench seat, resting his head on Dean's lap once again.

With the motel in sight and the worst case scenario achieved, things were looking up. Then again, Sam wasn't walking into the room alone. Touché reality, touché.

Dean placed another cool cloth across Sam's closed eyes, brushing tendrils of dark hair out of his face. Sam's expression was still one of pain, but in the silence and darkness of the motel room, he was coping pretty well.

Dean began to turn away to dampen the cloth again, but a weak moan and a hand at the hem of his shirt called him back.

"I'm right here, Sammy, I'm right here," He soothed, smiling lightly as he remembered just how clingy Sam got during his migraines, especially bad ones like this.

Dean slid onto the far side of the bed, letting his brother nuzzle into his side, and made a mental note to kick Sam's ass when his head wasn't trying to explode.

Dean ran his fingers through Sam's chocolate hair, listening as his breaths evened out and he relaxed into Dean's touch.

Dean shifted slightly to see his brother, "You're such a girl..."

FIN

* * *

 **Thanks for reading! Reviews/Favorites/Follows strongly encouraged! Feel free to PM me or leave some prompts/ideas in your review.**

 **Love ya,**

 **~Salted**


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